


Arrival

by Etched_in_Fire



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Gen, Pre-Despair School, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dissatisfaction with life has led Mukuro Ikusaba and Junko Enoshima to the verdant campus of Hope's Peak Academy.  What they're searching for is a mystery... but it's so close that Junko can taste it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrival

            Life had flooded the campus, and students were scattered about the concisely cut grass and cement pathways.  But they were dwarves in the shadow of the school, a vast red-stone structure that bore the name “Hope’s Peak Academy” over its front door.  She admitted it seemed far more animated and peppy since her tour of the campus a month previously… and that only put a foul taste in her mouth.  The spirit of hope and vigor seemed to make even the blades of grass radiate with a certain positivity she could not put her finger on.  It was sickening.

            A tossed look over her shoulder, and Junko spied her sister, carrying her suitcase without so much as a drop of sweat about her brow. “You wanna grab mine too?” she asked her dark-haired counterpart.

            “No.  Grab it yourself.”

            “But I might break a nail,” Junko pouted playfully, her hands about her hips. Mukuro seemed displeased at her excuse, but seized the other suitcase all the same, hoisting it off the sidewalk with her free hand. “I’m so proud of my strong _army_ sister.  Look at how strong you are!”

            “It wasn’t the army, Junko, it was a mercenary group,” Mukuro responded gruffly.

            Junko’s sweet smile did not falter in the slightest at the statement.  Her sister’s sense of humor had been beaten out of her with the heavy combat training.  In all honesty, the blonde couldn’t fathom why Mukuro had even thought about joining such a band of ruffians to begin with; it had never seemed like honorable work, and her sister had never dared to put a single toe out of line.  _She’s ice cold, and I burn everything in my path._   She picked at the gunk that had gathered beneath her forefinger’s nail, looking up at the school building with a set of large, far-from-innocent baby blues.

            “Well, you can thank me later for getting us in,” Junko added nonchalantly. “We all know it was my status as a fashionista that got us here.”

            “We were selected based on talent…” Mukuro began in protest, but conceded, “Though I suppose the money didn’t sway them from admitting us either.  It will be a welcome change.”

            “From the battlefields, sweaty men, and symphony of machine guns?” Junko inquired lightly. “I imagine so.”

            Mukuro’s fleeting smile was wry, but the raven-haired girl said nothing else of the matter.  Walking up the stairs, Junko led and her sister followed—the same as it had always been since birth.  Junko remembered that her twin had tried to disobey once… _once_.  And then her nails had found their mark across darling Mukuro’s brow, tickling the bridge of her nose, and that was when the _alpha_ had been decided.  But that had been years ago, and, well… bygones were bygones.

            Junko pulled open the door, letting out a small snarl of air-conditioned wind from the large building. “It’ll be nice getting to see each other more.  I did miss my dear sissie while she was gone fighting… well, whoever she was fighting out there.”

            “I missed you too, Junko.  Even if you are a nutcase,” Mukuro snorted as she caught the door with her foot and kicked it back open.  “We’ll have to check in at the front office to get our room assignments.”

            It was a longer process than Junko would have liked.  The line stretched to the door of the office itself, and she found herself staring at the rippling back of a man that had tried desperately to fit into something akin to a schoolgirl’s uniform ( _I am going to have to save this school’s fashion sense,_ thought Junko immediately as she twirled a strand of pale hair).  As the clock ticked away and the blonde’s patience began to wane, she peeked around the bulky frame in front of her, brows raised as she tried to see what the hold up was.

            “Uh, yes, yeah, I’m the wild card…” a boy with ruffled brown hair was fumbling at the front desk, paperwork scattered in front of him. “M-Makoto Naegi… yeah, that’s me.  Um…”

            “I thought this place was for intelligent prodigies, not bumbling idiots,” remarked a blonde boy behind them as he adjusted his rectangular glasses. “What a waste of time…”

            “I shouldn’t have worn heels,” Junko sighed in discontent.

            It was not five minutes before she found herself at the front desk, received her key and schedule promptly, and was strutting through the halls, Mukuro lagging behind with the suitcases. “It looks like we have rooms next to each other.  I can’t believe this place is big enough so that everyone has their own place to live,” Mukuro said as she scanned the halls. “I think we even have our own bathrooms.”

            Their rooms were indeed next to each other, located on the first floor.  Upon arrival, Junko noticed immediately that each door was labeled with a name.  _Convenient,_ she smirked to herself as she swiped her keycard through and pushed the door open.  In all honesty, Junko had not been expecting a suite.  But she supposed that it made sense; the school was dedicated to the prodigies of Japan.  _Of course we deserve royal treatment.  We’re practically royalty.  Higher IQs.  Better physical builds.  Probably better genetics all the same._   Briefly, she thought of her mother and her childhood home and suppressed a shiver of loathing.

            She permitted Mukuro to depart for her own room, and Junko dragged the suitcase awkwardly into the center of the room, letting the door click shut behind her.  The silence that ensued was uncomfortable, and she allowed herself another gander about the living quarters.  _Bed, bathroom, even a desk… and enough space to actually move around.  I could live with this._

            “Hope’s Peak Academy,” Junko announced to the empty room.  “The name sounds gross.  Oh well.  This is a pretty nice set up…” She found herself on the bed, bouncing up and down on the mattress before falling back, letting her feet dangle.  Edging her ruby heels off, she heard them clatter to the floor, flexing her toes and breathing out a small, content sigh.

            _Such a nice, soft bed…_

            It was nothing like home.  The old home—before the fashion shows and the modeling career.  Before Mukuro had left to join the mercenary gang.  The roof did not leak, the walls did not reek with death and mold, and the sounds of screaming and fighting from her mother and her _men_ did not disturb her.  _Fuck her and her stupid shit.  I’ve risen above her.  She’s just a worm under my boot._   But there was an old charm about the old house that she missed.  Something about the putrid aroma and sensation of hate that she _missed_ , in a painful, familiar sense.  The aura of hope and positivity was alien to her—and Junko could not have said that she liked it.

            “Knock, knock,” Mukuro announced her arrival, “I decided I was bored with putting up clothes and things.”

            “Already?” Junko remarked, sitting upright and smoothing out her plaid skirt. “Looks like you’re gonna be in for a shock, sissy.  The life of a mere high school student is not going to be as exciting as the life of a mercenary.”

            “One could say the same about being a model.  You’re not going to be in the limelight here, Junko.”

            “I’m _always_ in the limelight.”

             Mukuro’s twitch of a smile betrayed her stoic mien, and the dark-haired girl let the door shut behind her. “These are nice rooms.  And big, too.”

            “This place sucks,” Junko found herself blurting, and Mukuro’s head snapped in her direction, alarmed and surprised.  In response, the younger twin gave a shrug, “Just… can you feel it?  All the happiness and love and hope and blah blah blah… It’s like a school for uppity little kids with their uppity little dreams.”

            “It’s better than other schools,” the ex-mercenary said aloud, looking over the walls and the desk. “And, if you consider the mission behind the school, it’s no wonder it’s full of such… _spirited_ individuals.  We’re supposed to be guaranteed success after coming here.  Though… I suppose you’ve already had your dream fulfilled,” Mukuro Ikusaba remarked with a small smirk, “Being on every magazine cover and all.”

            _Yes.  Being on every magazine was wonderful.  Seeing my face everywhere was wonderful.  All of the praise.  All of the attention.  It was wonderful._   But it had never felt right, and that was the problem.  After the media had been grabbed by her, she supposed she could have sneezed on a plain shirt and they would have called it art.  There was no effort in the endeavor.  There was no joy in the happiness and the positivity.  A hole was missing.  She felt as though her very being was fractured.

            “I suppose,” Junko said airily, rubbing her chin.

            “You suppose,” Mukuro stated, dark brows raised. “I did wonder why you wanted to give that up for school.  Didn’t seem like you since you were on top of the world.”

            “But I wasn't on top of the world,” Junko blinked at her sister. “The world was on top of me.”  _There are demands of celebrities, you know.  There’s rules.  There’s no freedom in the camera being in your face.  Not in a world like this.  People want things from you.  First it’s a certain kind of dress, then it’s a sponsorship, then it’s a kiss on the cheek, then it goes on, and on, and on._ She was tired of dressing down for extra buyers.  She was tired of the demands.  Extra skin and panty shots were not what the people wanted.  It was blood.  It was pain.

            There were laws in the world, governed by the very soul of life.  Emotion existed in a vast array—happiness, sorrow, hurt, and glee.  But then there were others, the fuel of passion and beauty, the very heart of living and the very reason for striving.  She could feel it on the tip of her tongue.  She could taste the word.   But she just could not bring it to spill from her rosy, painted lips.  It was so close that she fought back a shiver of frustration—how could she forget?  The feeling stirred in her heart, it whispered memories of the slums and the leaky roof.  It reminded her of the rampant sin and carefree living that the streets had been.  There was something about that place that was free.  There was something she hated about it.  But there was something she had loved all the same.  

            _It was the familiarity.  It was the chaos._   _It was--_

            “Are you okay?” her sister’s troubled eyes made Junko realize that her nails had dug rivets into her own palm. 

            “Oh…” Junko murmured, looking the claw marks over.  _Just like your face when we were little._  “It’s no big deal.” It came out more of a song than a statement, and the younger sister looked at Mukuro with carefree blue eyes. “Just a bit of blood.”

            “I’ll get you a bandage,” her older twin said as she turned away, and Junko seized her wrist with her free hand.

            “No,” the word came out as an order, vehement and hissed as though she were an adder poised to strike. “No…” It came softer the second time.  “It’s okay, Mukuro.”  Her smile flickered back onto her face, like a dying light in an old, rusty warehouse. “Shouldn’t we be taking the time to go and meet our esteemed colleagues?”

            Though the worry never left her pale eyes, Mukuro Ikusaba inclined her head all the same.  Concise.  To the point.  _We’re direct opposites, you and I, but together, we’re unstoppable.  We were the rulers of the slums, back in the day.  We’ll be rulers of this stupid academy too._ Pensive, she took her sister’s hand, and they ventured into the hall.


End file.
